


The Last Dance of Queen Loren

by Aki (Aki22)



Category: Loren the Amazon Princess
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4126021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aki22/pseuds/Aki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every reign comes to an end eventually, and heroes grow old. Inspired by the game's epilogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Dance of Queen Loren

Ch 1. Proving

Elenor frowned as she looked in the mirror. The petite elven woman reached up to the short mop of sandy hair on her head and plucked a strand out, staring at it. The hair pinched between her fingers was grey. It was the third such strand she had found this week. Her frown only deepened when she leaned in closer and ran a finger around one of her kind, brown eyes. There were wrinkles there where once her skin had been smooth and flawless. A disappointed pout formed on the elf’s face.

“Well, I sure won’t be passing as a harem girl anytime soon," she stated with her customary sense of wry humor. It had been a long time since she had used that particular role as cover for her position as spy and assassin in the service of the Amazons. A little over thirty years had passed since she helped to lead the grand united army against the demonic threat of the Everburn Mountains, her princess had become queen, and she had been granted her freedom. It was becoming clear to her that age was starting to leave its mark.

“Nonsense," came a stern reply from the other woman nearby, towering over her. The queen of the amazons herself, and the love of her life. “We’re not that old, Elenor," Loren said, arms crossed over her chest.

“Easy for you to say," the elf quipped, turning to look at the mighty amazon with the piercing blue eyes and long, raven hair, her tall frame as fit and ready for battle as ever. Loren seemed to have inherited her mother’s propensity towards graceful aging, looking to Elenor much as she did when they first met decades ago. Despite the special occasion, she was dressed in her typical, light warrior garb, twin swords at her hips.

“Because it’s true," Loren insisted, hands on her hips. Her expression softened when her eyes met the elf’s. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

“Yeah. We’ll see if you still say that after watching all those young, tall warriors fight it out. Grunting and sweating and flexing, barely wearing anything…” Elenor stared into the distance with a smile and wistful sigh, teasing her queen. Loren just rolled her eyes at her lover’s antics.

Today was the day for the Citadel’s annual Proving, a series of contests of arms to test the city’s greatest warriors. Mages got to show off their skills in the magical arts, archers competed in the target challenges, and warriors battled it out in the arena before the roaring crowd. It was truly a spectacle to behold, and both women had the honor of competing in it before, dominating their respective events; Elenor in the target challenge and Loren in the arena. The elf hefted her bow and gave it a quick look over, ensuring it would do its job. She was happily surprised to find that her old leather armor still fit her. Maybe she was getting older, but she could still rock that midriff and outshoot everyone in the Citadel.

“Making everyone compete for second place again, I see”, Loren said proudly, watching Elenor prepare.

“I’m surprised you’re not competing this year. You love knocking skulls and showing ‘em how it’s done," Elenor replied, leaning against the wall of their bedroom, illuminated by a beam of early morning light streaming in.

“True," the queen of the amazons declared, hands on her hips and a smile on her face, an expression the stoic warrior rarely shared with anyone but her, “But it wouldn’t be very regal of me to steal ALL the glory. Maybe next year, if the competition is stiff enough.” The gods themselves had declared Loren the greatest warrior of the age, showing their favor by bestowing one of their holy weapons to her. “Fair competition” for her generally included things like dragons, demons, and death knights. Elenor, as skilled as she was, rarely won in sparring matches against her. Although she certainly enjoyed trying.

The day was perfect for the Proving, the skies clear and the sun shining. It seemed the whole city was up and about early, the excitement in the air palpable. The market was opened up, merchants and artisans taking the opportunity to sell their wares. Warriors were out in the city square, warming up before eager spectators who had arrived to root for their favorite participants. The smell of food cooking drifted on the air as stands were set up to serve those spectators in the events of the today. The arena was swiftly prepared by servants, and before long, the competition was on.

The target challenge was set out in the fields outside the city walls, the archery targets set at varying distances and elevations that competitors had to strike as swiftly and accurately as possible. Elenor felt like she could do it blindfolded, the elven assassin one with her bow as she went through her run, adjusting for distance and wind on the fly as if it were instinct. Trained in the art by her first mistress decades ago, she had kept up the practice ever since. She made a point of keeping her skills sharp, just in case. In the initial years of Queen Loren’s rule, the former slave had to take up an espionage role again, putting premature ends to uprisings and eliminating troublesome individuals either through persuasion or violence. Loren made her share of enemies with her sweeping social reforms.

Elenor could see the results of those changes on that day. There were far more men entered into the Proving than in previous decades, having gradually become more accepted in the woman-dominated society. Still, it was a slow and painful change that Loren had issued in, pushing back against centuries of tradition and prejudice. The same went with the ending of slavery, although most slaves elected to remain in their positions to make a living, the opportunity to advance granted to them. Elenor had helped smooth the transition, being a highly-respected figure among the former slaves of the Citadel, an example many sought to live up to.

As expected, Elenor scored the highest in the target challenge, although only by a slim margin. Either she was slowing down, or the competition was really itching to measure up to the Citadel’s archery champion. Regardless, the elf was satisfied with her victory and happily returned to her queen’s side within the city walls. The two of them sat in a shaded box overlooking the grand arena, Loren on her throne. By then, it was mid-day, the sun beating down on the pale sands of the arena. The air was filled with the roar of the crowds and the clash of steel meeting steel.

A clear crowd favorite began to emerge as the day went on, one competitor earning more victories in one-on-one duels than the rest. An amazon named Adara had become one of the frontrunners, a young and upcoming warrior in the Citadel who had earned glory leading expeditions into the Everburn Mountains, mopping up the fractured forces of the death knight Fost’s former army. By all accounts, she was an excellent field commander, and in the Proving that day, was showing herself to have the skill to personally back it.

“She shows great promise," Loren said, nodding her head towards the crowd favorite as she got another opponent to yield to the cheers of the crowd, the young woman thrusting her sword into the air triumphantly. A typical picture of amazon beauty, the green-eyed warrior was dressed in a suit of light chainmail, her black hair cut short. She seemed to favor the sword and shield combination. Loren had expressed on more than one occasion that she thought a shield was dead weight, but Elenor couldn’t deny that the warrior down on the sands was making it work beautifully, letting her enemies crash and tire themselves against the wall until she could bring them down. “I’m thinking of promoting her to the palace guard. She would make an excellent captain.”

Elenor smirked, replying, “Can’t do any worse than ‘ole Breza.”

Loren smirked, fighting back a chuckle that threatened to escape her. “You should not speak ill of the dead, Elenor. …Although you are right.”

The final event of the day arrived. It was time for the melee, a mass free-for-all between all the remaining arena combatants who could still fight. A chaotic and dangerous event, injuries were common, and fatalities were not unheard of. The Citadel’s healers were going to be busy that night. Elenor made a mental note to head down to the healer’s quarters after this and help them out. As that thought crossed her mind, the battle was on, and the crowd was cheering. It began as an unorganized mess, a clash of bodies and weapons with no drawn battle lines, but as combatants were taken out, limping out of the arena, things became clearer. Individual duels took center stage, occasionally broken off to take advantage of a lapse in attention of competitors. Among them all, Adara kept up the pace, scoring win after win until she was facing the remaining fighters all by herself.

The crowd began to chant Adara’s name as one-by-one, her foes yielded. The remaining fighters abandoned their respective contests to try and pool their efforts to take her out, but even outnumbered, the rising star of the Citadel did not lose her cool, fending them off and constantly leading them to locations and fights of her choosing until at last, she was the last one standing. Cheers went up as the warrior, tired, sweaty, and bruised with a grin on her face, raised her sword one last time. Elenor stood up and clapped for the arena’s champion, thoroughly impressed by the display of martial skill.

Queen Loren left the royal spectator box and stepped down into the arena to even more cheers, standing stoically before the remaining champion who knelt before her ruler. A small smirk crossed the monarch’s face as she glanced down at the triumphant warrior. “It has been a long time since I have seen such a display, Adara of the Amazons. You have done our Great Mothers proud this day, and I am glad to declare you champion of this Proving!," she called out, officially announcing the winner of the contest and bringing the annual Proving to an end. Reaching down to her hip, Loren drew her sword and raised it high in salute.

All of a sudden, the crowd became deathly quiet. Cheers gave way to nervous murmurs, and the tension in the air was thick enough to touch. Elenor blinked and looked around in confusion, wondering what had caused the sudden change in the air. Then, the elf saw what had their attention, what had shocked them so. The Hawk Blade, the holy sword forged by the gods, was clutched in Loren’s hands.

It wasn’t glowing.

For the first time in over thirty years, Loren’s hands had graced that sword’s hilt, and the blade did not shine blue for her. Realizing what she saw, Elenor’s heart sank, and the queen’s jaw dropped, mirroring the astonishment in the crowd. Her hand quivered briefly before the proud amazon regained her composure, her face becoming a mask as she sheathed the weapon, Adara bowing before her queen. But Elenor saw something in her love’s eyes that shook her to the core, something she never thought she would see.

Loren was afraid.


End file.
